


The Alcove - A Year in the Countryside Prequel

by nztina



Series: The Countryside and Other Stories [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Sixth Year, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/M, Hogwarts Sixth Year
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25396804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nztina/pseuds/nztina
Summary: ****** ON HIATUS UNTIL “CAPTIVE OF MY SPEAR” IS COMPLETE!!! ******“Give me a good reason to leave you here and not report you.” Her eyes narrowed, reflecting his expression. “Just one reason.”Draco looked like he was two seconds away from hexing her down the hall when, suddenly, his shoulders slumped and he looked down at the stone floor. He breathed out a defeated sigh.“Because,” his voice was small; shaky, “my life is currently a waking nightmare and I need some time to myself.” He raked a hand through his hair before shooting her a hasty glance. “Please, Granger. Let me just stay up here.”Draco Malfoy likes to skulk in an abandoned corridor during sixth-year. Hermione Granger recently switched patrol routes. A cautious friendship begins.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley
Series: The Countryside and Other Stories [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1830613
Comments: 79
Kudos: 95





	1. Hidden

**Author's Note:**

> **  
> Please read A Year in the Countryside before beginning this fic!  
> **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm back with another story!
> 
> You're getting the flashback and it's going to be a long one!!! I'm so excited to see what you think of sixteen-year-old Hermione and Draco. There will be so much angst, so much pining, so much sexual tension...you'd better start preparing yourself. 
> 
> As you will notice, I'm doing this as a day-by-day account so you'll be getting quite a lot of detail. Some of this story will be in Draco's POV so you'll really get to know what he's thinking within the plot. 
> 
> A difference between this story and the last is that there won’t be daily updates. It was such a great experience to have to write and post daily but it got to the point where I was panicking. I think I should be able to post at least twice a week for this story without burying myself in pressure. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this. Remember, I love reading your comments, so leave me your feedback!
> 
> Lots of love,
> 
> nztina xx

_Friday - 5th January 1997_

Hermione Granger huffed as she walked down the hallway. It was the first day back to school from Christmas break and she was in a bad mood. She was irritated about Ron and Lavender, her neck was sore from reading hunched over in bed, and Harry was behaving more strangely than usual. She was not going to be forgiving if she caught some misguided couple going at it in an abandoned classroom.

Before Christmas, she had asked Professor McGonagall to switch her to a solo patrol assignment. She needed the time to think. It was going to be a difficult year and she knew this going into it. What she hadn’t anticipated was the added drama of relationships. _Stupid Ron and his idiot girlfriend_. McGonagall had been accomodating enough, giving her the East Wing of the sixth floor, along with the corridors around it. Hermione would have gladly taken the dungeons, had they been offered. Peace. That was all she wanted. 

She scoped out the layout of her patrol area and set off down the corridor with a Lumos charm at the end of her wand. She stuck her head into each room she came across, stifling a shriek in the arm of her robe when she accidentally disturbed a small group of mice that ran past her. It was nearly 9 o’clock in the evening when she made it to the far end of the wing and the darkness was intimidating. One long corridor left and she could finally go back upstairs to sit in the cosy, brightly lit Gryffindor common room and read a book. 

Walking slowly, she rolled her neck. It had been a long day and her mind wandered. Tomorrow was Saturday, maybe she would walk down to Hogsmeade with Harry. She needed a new pair of gloves and some potion ingredients from the apothecary. She was determined to have a nice weekend. Suddenly, someone exhaled nearby and her wand was up, lightning-fast.

“Show yourself!”

There was a long silence. Hermione faltered. Maybe it was her imagination, or a giant mouse or something. Then, he came into view and her heart froze. 

“Get the fuck out of here, Granger.”

Draco Malfoy was leaning out of a hidden alcove, his face contorted into an angry scowl at being disturbed. Hermione dug her heels in and gripped her wand with unnecessary force. 

“I certainly will not, Malfoy, and don’t speak to me like that!”

“Seriously, go away. Go bother someone else.”

“Why are you up here?”

He rolled his eyes and scoffed a mocking laugh. 

“ _My_ business. Get out.”

“Not if you’re out of bounds, _which_ you are. You can’t be up here.”

Malfoy rose and stepped out into the corridor, his hands clenched into fists. 

“Granger, I swear to Salazar, I’ve had a fucking awful break and I want to be alone. What do you want me to do, pay you a Galleon to get lost?”

Hermione folded her arms and set her jaw, stubbornly. She shifted her weight to her back foot and stuck out her hip. 

“Give me a good reason to leave you here and not report you.” Her eyes narrowed, reflecting his expression. “Just _one_ reason.”

Draco looked like he was two seconds away from hexing her down the hall when, suddenly, his shoulders slumped and he looked down at the stone floor. He breathed out a defeated sigh. 

“Because,” his voice was small; shaky, “my life is currently a waking nightmare and I need some time to myself.” He raked a hand through his hair before shooting her a hasty glance. “Please, Granger. Let me just stay up here.”

Hermione didn’t know what was more shocking; the fact that he displayed a scrap of vulnerability in her presence, or that he used the word ‘ _please_ ’ and it wasn’t in the sentence ‘ _please go fuck yourself_’. She ran her eyes over his face and torso and tried to squelch the thought of how handsome he was, standing there wearing his black suit and haughty expression. He suddenly caught her eye and there was a flicker of something across his face, some sort of confusion that she couldn’t place. It made her nervous and she decided to grant his wish and leave him alone. 

“Okay.”

“What?”

“Okay. I won’t report you.” Her feet were already carrying her backwards down the passage.

“Really?” His annoyance fell away to reveal intrigued surprise. It was almost comical that he wasn’t sneering at her with hate.

“Really. ‘Night, Malfoy.” She spun to walk, and got two metres away when she halted. A thought struck her. She hadn’t seen him in the Great Hall that evening. Without looking back, she called out, “Did you eat dinner?” 

“What?” His voice was muffled and she assumed he was sitting back in the alcove.

“Did you eat?”

“Oh.” There were a few seconds of heavy silence. “No.”

“Okay.” Hermione didn’t know why she asked, and she didn’t know what she would do with the information she received. “See you around.”

He didn’t answer and she had to force herself not to break into a run as she put as much space between herself and Draco Malfoy as possible.

— — — — —

Draco sat in his alcove and went over the last two minutes in his head. It had been his first moment of quiet since the ghastly Christmas holiday, and she had to ruin it with her unique Granger-ness. Over five years of seeing her cross the Great Hall and various classrooms, and nothing was different. Her curls were still wild, her eyes still bright and her mouth still rosy and determined. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest like a bloody Graphorn was try to burst out. 

_He’s handsome._

That was what she had thought while they were arguing. After he had yelled at her and told her to go away, she thought he was handsome. No. It wasn’t happening. _No, no, no._ He dropped his head to his hands and groaned. She couldn’t think of him like that. Of all the people in the world to be attracted to him, it could _not_ be her. _Not Hermione fucking Granger._

— — — — — — — — — — 

_Saturday - 6th Jan 1997_

Hermione gave herself a little pep talk the next day as she neared the East Wing. She wasn’t sure if it would be a repeat of the previous night, but she hadn’t seen him again at dinner and that probably meant he was skulking up here again. Maybe he thought he had scared her away. If she could, she would have given him his space, but she had a duty to perform. If he was there, she’d leave him be. He wasn’t doing anything, really. Just sitting.

_I hope he’s there._

It had been a disastrous day. At Hogsmeade, Harry and Hermione sat in a corner booth while Hermione did Harry’s Herbology quiz for him. She was still on the first page when Lavender burst into The Three Broomsticks, dragging Ron behind her. If only she wasn’t a giggler. When they sat down in her direct line of sight, Hermione had barely enough time to glare at Lavender before Harry was pulling her out of the pub and into the snow. 

Hermione made herself walk gingerly at the start of the passage, so her footsteps wouldn’t echo, and started opening doors. Waving her wand, she poked her head into them to check they were empty. When she neared the alcove, she didn’t look to see if he was there, but the sharp intake of breath that came from his seat gave her an answer. He didn’t say anything, and she continued to check the doors, before getting to the end of the corridor and turning to walk back. In this direction, she could see him out of the corner of her eye, but she kept her gaze directly on the entrance to the passage and walked straight past.

When she got back to her room, she flopped down onto her bed and sighed. None of her roommates were there yet and she revelled in the silence. It wasn’t that she disliked them - well, aside from Lavender - but they treated her like she was a creature from Mars. She had little in common with them and it had been this way since first year. A small weight of sadness settled on her heart. It was lonely sometimes. Harry and Ron had each other in their dorm. She had no one. 

Her thoughts slid towards the boy who was probably still sitting in the corridor, and she felt a pain in her throat that came from repressing emotion. She couldn’t like him and in her logical way, she went over the many reasons why that was. _He might be a Death Eater. He might be dangerous. He hates Muggles and Muggle-borns. He hates me. He hurt me in the past. He would certainly break my heart. _

— — — — — — — — — — 

_Sunday - 7th January 1997_

Hermione repeated her actions from the previous day but this time, when she turned around at the end of the corridor and walked back, she stopped at his seat. Removing the small, shoddily wrapped parcel from her robes, she held it out and waited. She kept her gaze on the stone floor, and counted to eleven before he accepted the parcel with a small, barely audible _‘thank you_ '. It sounded more like a question than a statement and the uncertainty in his voice almost made her smile. Draco Malfoy thanked _her_. Somewhere, his horrid, prejudiced ancestors were turning in their graves.

She nodded in response and kept her gaze trained away from him as she made her way back to the Gryffindor common room. When she got back, Harry asked her why she was red, and she told him it was the heat from the fireplace. It was a good thing his glasses were broken again and he couldn’t see the lie splashed plainly across her face.

— — — — — 

Draco stared at the warm package of tissues, unsure of what to do. Granger had been in a mood today, the same one she was in the day before. Her mind was filled with sadness over Weasley and that Brown girl who kept giggling during every damn meal. Hermione Granger was jealous. Draco couldn’t understand why. She was the most intelligent witch in their year, she was obviously more beautiful than Brown, and Ronald Weasley was no one’s prize, but he reminded himself that it wasn’t his problem. _She_ wasn’t his.

His mouth went dry as he hastened to correct himself. She wasn’t his _problem_. Unwrapping the napkins, his stomach actually growled as two soft bread rolls, sliced and buttered, looked up at him. They were toasty, which meant she had performed a warming charm to stop them from getting cold. A small piece of parchment sat atop the bread, reading,

_Stop skipping dinner so often. McGonagall will notice._

He smiled in spite of himself.


	2. Intrude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! 
> 
> My computer is freaking out on me. The trackpad thing (laptop mouse bit?) keeps trying to work against me. If this keeps up, I'll have to start writing on my phone 😂
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely comments on the first chapter of this prequel! They were so kind. I hope you guys like this chapter. I'm trying to develop their friendship slowly as we have four months worth of storyline to go. Let me know what you think!
> 
> Love always, 
> 
> xx nztina

_Monday - 8th January 1997_

Harry passed the bowl of roast potatoes to Hermione. She thanked him and tried not to look over at the Slytherin table, where Draco was sitting, flanked by Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson. He had snuck in just before dinner started. Concentrating on her plate, she willed herself to keep her eyes steady, but a moment of flickering weakness had her lifting them to search across the room. 

His unflinching gaze was directed straight at her and she dropped her fork _and_ her line of sight. _Why was he so good at making her nervous?_

“Hermione?” Harry nudged her shoulder with his. “You okay? You look like you’ve had a fright.”

She shook her head and gave him a weak smile.

“Just forgot about an assignment I have.” Oxymoronically, it worried her that the sight of Draco eating a proper meal made her anxiety lessen. She was _happy_ he was eating. Why? _Why did she care?_ She snuck another look at him and when she saw he was talking to Blaise, she decided to push him out of her mind and actually eat the dinner that was growing cold in front of her. 

— — — — — 

As she walked down the corridor on the sixth floor, Hermione tried to think of what to say to him. The last time they had interacted was last night, when she had given him the bread rolls she had saved from dinner. The last time they had actually spoken was three nights ago. She did her usual routine of walking to the end of the passage without glancing in his direction, before looking as she walked passed for the second time. 

Except, he wasn’t there. 

She halted, an unnerving cloud of disappointment hovering over her stomach. He wasn’t in his alcove. The moonlight shone on the seat, where it usually shone onto his sharp cheekbones, and she faltered. Of course, the natural thing to do would be to finish her patrol and go join Ginny and Dean for a game of exploding snap, or whatever normal people do. 

Instead, she took two timid steps into the alcove and sank down to sit on his seat. It was surprisingly comfortable, for stone. She let her head fall to the wall behind her and closed her eyes.

— — — — — 

Draco stalked upstairs to the sixth floor. Blaise had gotten him distracted with something down in the common room and he—

He hesitated, stalling at the entrance to the East Wing passage. He…what? _Hated the idea of spending an evening with his friends instead of sitting alone in an abandoned part of the school? Didn’t want to miss Granger’s patrol? Didn’t want to go a whole night without seeing her pensive, determined face?_ The idea made him annoyed and panicky at the same time. He shook his head and walked on, shoving his hands into his pockets. As he got closer to his alcove, he realised that there was magic in the air. Someone else was there already. Turning to look in, he almost stumbled back when he saw Hermione Granger sitting in his seat, her head resting on the wall, fast asleep. Usually still wearing her school uniform, tonight, she was dressed in Muggle jeans and a sweater. It was irritatingly endearing and he rolled his eyes, mostly just to make sure that he still could.

 _Was she waiting for him?_

He decided that looking into her mind was a bad idea, so he opted for poking her on the shoulder. It felt wrong, him watching her sleep, here in this quiet, secluded place. It was too cosy, too…

 _...intimate_. 

He shuddered at the thought and poked her shoulder again.

 _“Granger._ ” It was a sharp whisper, and she did not stir. He sighed, stepping into the enclosed space, closer than he would have dared if she had been awake. Without realising it, he had lifted his hand and brought it to her cheek. The backs of his fingertips brushed against her jaw and she started with a fright from the contact. It took her a few seconds to find her bearings and, in that time, he stepped away from her, donning his cool, composed expression. She looked up at him, a flush staining her cheeks. 

“Sorry.”

“What?”

“Sorry.” She rose, blinking the sleep away from her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Yes, you’ve said that three times now.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude on your space.” She side-stepped him and stumbled back into the passage, turning to walk away. 

Draco didn’t know why she stopped, or why she was looking back at him, or why she was looking down at his hand. Then he realised that he was grasping onto her wrist, pulling her back to him. 

“You don’t have to go.” He knew the look in her eyes too well. _Fear_. It was enough to make him release her. She stayed where she was, her expression as shocked as he had ever seen it. 

“I wasn’t waiting for you.”

He didn’t have to read her mind to see the lie. She was a terrible liar. It almost made him smile. 

“I know.”

“I’m—,” she glanced behind her, towards the door at the end of the passage, “I have to go. My friends, they’ll be worried if I’m not back before ten.”

“Granger, you—,”

“I have to go. I’m sorry for…” She trailed off, her sentence left unfinished. He barely had time to think of what to say when she suddenly backed away before turning on her heel. He watched her go, before dropping into his seat. The whole place smelled like her perfume.

— — — — — — — — — — 

_Tuesday - 9th January 1997_

When she walked past the alcove, he was there and he was waiting for her. She decided that the best thing to do would be to walk by him before he could grab her and hex her into tomorrow. Unfortunately, she did not take into account the seeker-fast reflexes that had him shooting his hand out to bar her from slipping past. Her collarbones smacked into his arm and she had to hold onto the stone wall beside her to stop herself from losing her balance. 

“What is it, Malfoy?”

“You can stop being afraid of me, you know.” 

She wasn’t expecting that. 

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“You ran away from me yesterday.”

“That’s because I—,”

“Yes?”

“I didn’t want to intrude on your privacy.”

“I think I was intruding on yours.”

She shook her head and tried to bend to sneak under his arm but he stepped fully into her path. She sighed. 

“Look, _you_ told me to leave you alone. I’m just trying to do that.”

“I—,” he turned his head to look out of the window, his jaw set, “I know that you have friends, and that you probably don’t know what it feels like to be lonely.”

“You have friends.”

He scoffed. 

“Not really. Pansy just wants to sleep with me,” at this, Hermione looked at the floor so he wouldn’t see her cheeks flame, “and Crabbe and Goyle aren’t really conversationalists, if you haven’t noticed.”

“What about Zabini?”

“He’s alright. Doesn’t like to talk.”

“Do you like to talk?”

“I’ve never really gotten the chance.”

“So you just come to sit up here? Alone?”

“It’s quiet. I have a lot on my mind.”

“Do you—,” she tried to find the words, looking up at him, “would you, uh, would you want to talk to me? About...about whatever is in your mind?”

The look of utter mortification on his face made her snap her mouth shut and return her gaze to her feet.

“I can’t, Granger.”

She nodded.

“Because I’m a Muggle-born.” The hateful slur that mirrored the phrase hung in the air between them, uncomfortably and unspoken.

“Something like that.”

Before she could think to ask him what he meant, he was stepping to the side. 

“Malfoy—,”

“Go, Granger. Go enjoy ‘ _Pride and Prejudice_ ’.”

She decided that it was better to leave things like this, instead of riling him up into a full-blown argument and she walked past him, trying to ignore the expensive, delicious scent of his cologne. She was barely three metres away when something niggled at the corner of her mind. She turned, too curious to think about the fact that he was watching her walk away. 

“How did you know what I’m reading?”

A flicker of distress crossed over his face before his features smoothed out. He shrugged. 

“It’s your favourite book.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“You’re always reading it at breakfast.”

“Oh.” It made sense. _Somewhat_.

“‘Night, Granger.”

“‘Night,” she turned, “Malfoy.”

— — — — — — — — — — 

_Wednesday - 10th January 1997_

Hermione spent the whole day processing last night’s conversation. He didn’t have anyone to talk to. _Was he sad? Was he suffering? Who would know?_

“Seriously, what is going on with you?” Ginny fell in step with her, fully kitted out in her Quidditch uniform. Hermione was on her way to the library and Ginny was just heading out to practice. 

“Nothing.”

“Is it Ron? Don’t worry, Lavender will get bored of him soon.”

“No.” And it was the truth. Actually, Ron and Lavender hadn’t even crossed her mind for the last couple of days. “I’m just worried about school.”

Ginny snorted. 

“If you’re worried about school, the rest of us should be dead from anxiety.”

“It’s nothing, Gin. I’m—,” she didn’t know what she was. She wasn’t confused about her feelings for Draco Malfoy. He had made it very clear to her, many times over the years, that she was nothing to him. _Was he elegant and devastatingly handsome? Yes. Was she blind to his beauty? No. This was not good enough a reason to dredge up an old, buried crush and painfully wear it against her heart._ She chewed on her lip.

“You’re distracted.” Ginny threw an arm around Hermione’s shoulder and squeezed her in a side-hug, affectionately. “Okay, I’m off. We can chat when you’re back from patrols tonight.”

“Bye! Have fun.”

— — — — — 

Hermione had decided what to do by the end of the day. All through dinner, she listened to her friends talking about something or the other as her plan formulated. She was going to be brave.

“Hermione, you’re glaring at your fork.” Harry interrupted her thoughts. 

“What?”

“Seriously, you’ve got to stop getting so worked up over homework.”

“Yeah.”

“Pass the chicken, would you?”

Later, as she walked to the alcove, her hands clenched into tight fists. She turned into the alcove.

“Talk to me.”

Draco looked away from the window, fixing her with a sombre expression. 

“Pardon?”

Hermione stepped into the little nook and dropped to sit in the space next to him, her hands folded on her lap. She looked up at him and her bravery faltered for a brief second.

“Talk to me. You said yourself that you don’t have friends with whom you can talk freely. One of my best friends is currently glued to his girlfriend’s face, and the other one spends his every waking hour moping around after the girl he’s in love with. Neither of them are interested in discussing their lives with me at the moment.” She felt her hair-tie snap, breaking from the strain of holding her hair in a bun. Her curls slowly worked their way down to settle against her cheeks and shoulders. “I’m free to talk.”

“Granger,” Draco started to shift away from her, putting space between their thighs, “I didn’t mean that _we_ should—,”

“I _know_ you’re not my friend, Malfoy. I’m not deluded.” Hermione said, plainly. “I just think that everyone needs someone to talk to,” she chanced a quick look at his slate eyes, “even you.”

“So,” he frowned, his voice turning sour, “this is a pity offer.”

“No.”

“Then?”

“It’s me saying that _I_ need to talk to someone, too.”

“ _Granger_.”

“ _Malfoy_.”

He looked like he was trying to solve a very difficult problem in his mind and his jaw clenched and unclenched every few seconds. Then, after five minutes of silent contemplation, 

“ _Fine_. We can talk.”

“Okay.”

“No one can know.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. 

“ _Obviously_. I don’t know about you, but _I_ have a reputation to uphold.”

They both grinned. 


	3. Hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in an hour just now, because I needed to write something (therapy) but also need to go get ready for work tomorrow. I hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Also, I don't know if you've seen my Tumblr post recently, but I'm planning on writing a Downton Abbey-style Dramione fic. Obviously, I wouldn't kill off Draco à la Matthew Crawley, because I'm not that cruel a person, but it would be the same sort of plot (Mary and Matthew). Let me know if you'd be interested in it.

_Thursday - 11th January 1997_

Draco was in a particularly introspective mood the next evening. He didn’t know what possessed him to agree to talk to Hermione Granger the night before. There was both regret and excitement swirling around in his head and he didn’t know what to think. He sat with his hands flat against his thighs, staring at the wall in front of him when he heard soft, cautious footsteps. Then, a _Lumos_ -lit wand was reflecting warm light onto her curious hazel eyes. She stood there, staring at him and he made the ridiculous mistake of shifting over to accommodate her. Her eyebrows arched straight into her hairline as she took the seat in the space he had made for her, her fingertips coming to curl over the side of the stone bench. He turned his gaze away from her hands and back to the wall. 

“I—,”

“What—,”

“Oh—,”

“Sorry—,”

“No, I—,”

They both exhaled audibly and Draco realised that Hermione was shifting, pulling her legs up to rest on the edge of the stone, tucking her knees under her skin and hugging her shins. He tried not to look at her legs but it was very difficult since she was wearing jeans. He cursed Muggles for their figure-hugging clothes.

“Why don’t you tell me about your day?” She volunteered, elbowing his softly on the arm. He didn’t know what to do. She was next to him, sitting like she was comfortable in his presence, asking him to talk to her. _What was his plan? What was he going to do? What was SHE going to do?_

“I— I had the same day as you.”

She sighed. 

“Well, that’s pretty pathetic, Malfoy.”

“Excuse me?”

“ _‘Same day as you_ ’ is not a good answer. How was your day? What did you do today? Did you enjoy lunch? Did you have fun in Defence classes?”

“I—,” Draco decided to stop overthinking and just answer, “ate pumpkin soup at lunch and had an average time in Defence class.”

There was a small silence and then he risked a glance in her direction. She was giving him her patented Disappointed Hermione Granger look. He almost smirked back at her. 

“You really are a weird fellow, Malfoy.”

He scoffed. He couldn’t help himself.

“Excuse me, I’m weird? You’re the bizarre lunatic who decided to therapize _me_ , of all people, during your patrols.”

“That’s because I know you need a—,”

The air shifted as he heard her nearly slip up and say ‘ _friend_ ’, but she caught herself in time. 

“— shoulder to lean on.”

“Malfoys don’t lean.”

It sounded almost like she chuckled. 

“Be that as it may, you are _clearly_ in need of an outlet to vent.”

“To _what_?”

“To vent. Release your emotions. Your frustrations.”

“Unlikely, Granger.”

Then she tossed her hair over her shoulder and a stray curl brushed against his jaw, eliciting a blush from Draco’s cheeks. He was very, very grateful for the darkness. The moon was hiding behind a large cloud tonight and they were sitting in shadows. 

“If you’re going to be a closed-off jerk, then I’m going to go. I have better things to do.”

“Oh, like what? Crying over Weasley?”

“Shut up, Malfoy.” He could hear the warning in her tone but disregarded it. 

“You really shouldn’t be.”

“What?”

“Crying over him.”

“I’m not.”

“ _Pining_ , then. Everyone sees it.”

“Oh, really? Everyone sees it? What exactly does _everyone_ see?”

He saw the bait and decided that he could allow her some a scrap of advice, dignity be damned. 

“Everyone,” this he said in a gentler voice, “sees that he is not worthy of your affections.”

The dark cloud eased away from the moon and light shone into the alcove. He glanced down to see her fiddling with the aglets at the end of her shoelaces, her exhales casting tiny puffs of visible breath into the surrounding air. She was cold. He removed his wand from his jacket pocket and murmured a warming charm. Her gaze drifted up to meet his as the spell took effect. 

“Thanks.”

“Welcome.” He didn’t know if she was thanking him for the warming charm or for what he had said. _He almost felt_ —

“Why are you sad?”

“Because—,” and he stopped himself, cursing at his own foolishness. He couldn’t let his guard down like this. Not in front of her. _Especially_ not in front of her. 

“Because?”

“Nothing, Granger. I’m not sad.”

“I notice it, you know.”

“You don’t.”

“Yes, I do. I see you in class, with your chin in your hand and your eyes far away. Why are you sad, Draco?”

There it was. His name. He searched through the logs of memories in his mind, sifting through his interactions with her, trying to find the last time she called him by his name. Never. He decided to let it float past him because it was too much to hold onto. 

“Leave it, Granger.” _There, put the wall back up._

Apparently, she wasn’t in a mood to push him because one knee slipped down and her thigh hit the bench, briefly bumping into his. He swallowed.

“Isn’t this odd?” She looked at him again.

“What?”

“You and me, sitting here and talking?”

“Well, this was your idea.”

“I know, but we’re enemies, aren’t we?”

“Are we?” _He didn’t want her to think they were._

“I don’t know. I mean, you’ve never made my life easy, Malfoy,” _back to Malfoy,_ “so this is relatively strange. You haven’t once tried to hex me.”

“I grew up.”

“You grew up?”

“And I stopped being a silly brat.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, re—,” he halted when he belatedly understood the teasing tone of her voice, flickering his eyes toward her. Her face was doing something odd. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were sparkling and her mouth—

Hermione Granger was smiling. 

At _him_. 

He nearly fell off the seat.

“What?”

“You’re so uptight. It’s funny.” He tried to ignore how straight and perfect her teeth were. “You’re funny.”

He didn’t know what to say to this. It was bad enough that he had allowed for this to happen, but now she was smiling at him and telling him that he was funny. Surely somewhere nearby, Potter and Weasley were hiding behind a door, waiting to jump out and give up the ruse. 

“I have to go.”

“What?” That her voice was laced with disappointment was not lost on him, but Draco stood, carefully stepping around Hermione’s feet. He tried, and failed to leave without reading her thoughts but she was so close to him and he couldn’t help it. 

_Don’t go._

He straightened his suit jacket. 

“I have an assignment.”

“Oh.” She sat back. He knew she couldn’t argue with the excuse. 

“I’ll see you—,” he hesitated, “around.”

“Goodnight.”

She looked up at him and her kind, pretty face was like a kick in the gut.

“Goodnight, Granger.”

He nodded and turned to walk down the passage, only a few feet away when he heard a soft voice say, 

“Sweet dreams.”

_If only._

_— — — — — — — — — —_

_Friday - 12th January 1997_

Hermione replayed the previous night in her mind over eight times before Harry told her off for walking into a wall. He was currently dragging her down a hallway behind him, making sure she didn’t smack into a pillar-like she had ten minutes before. She looked up to hear him mid-rant.

“—and you’re being so careless all of a sudden! I mean, good grief, Hermione! You’re the smartest of all of us! Stop being so absentminded! You’re starting to freak me out!”

“Sorry, Harry.”

“Well,” Harry looked winded from his speech, “good. Okay. So, anyway, you want to go down to Hogsmeade tonight? We’re having dinner.”

“Sure.” The word was out of her mouth before she could think about it and she knew didn’t have a good enough excuse to back out. 

— — — — — 

Hermione frantically ran up the staircase, two steps at a time, to the sixth floor. It was a short while after 10 pm and she was unsure why her heart was beating so erratically. _She wasn’t nervous. Or anxious. Or worried about him._ When she finally got to the corridor, she rounded the corner with such speed that she slammed straight into something solid. Him. Before she could fall backwards and hit the ground, Draco’s arms were out and steadying her by the shoulders. She instinctively raised her hands to grip onto his wrists. 

“I’m sorry.” It slipped by her brain and ran out of her mouth without a second thought. 

“What for?” His voice was colder than yesterday. “You have nothing for which to apologise.”

“My friends and I were at Hogsmeade for dinner.”

“That’s nice.” His tone assured her that he definitely did not think it was nice. 

“Why do you even care?” She wondered aloud.

“Who says I do?”

“You’re behaving like a je—,” His eyes flashed. She shut her mouth before the phrase ‘ _jealous boyfriend’_ could ruin this budding friendship, instead turning her focus towards the hands still gripping her shoulders, the arms she was still clutching onto. He realised as soon as she did and they both took a step back, releasing each other. 

“I’m sorry I was late.”

“As I said, Granger, you need not apologise.” 

She gritted her teeth at his overly formal words.

“I want to.”

“Why?” His icy stare was boring into her with such heat that she felt uncomfortable. 

“Because I told you that we could talk, and then I didn’t show up. I know I’m not important to you, but,” she hesitated when he frowned, but continued, “I didn’t mean to abandon you tonight.”

“Abandon me?” He scoffed, derisively. “What am I, an unwanted kitten?”

“No! I just mean that,” Hermione decided that she had already crossed whatever line he had put up, “that we’re something. Not amicable, but—,”

“No longer trying to kill each other?”

“Yes.”

“And your point is—,”

“—my point is that,” she sighed, knowing this was truly _pointless —_ at least tonight, “it’s late and you should go to your dorm. I won’t be able to save you if you get caught later than half-past.” 

She turned to walk away.

“Say what you were going to say.”

_Damn._

“I’m tired of you hating me. I don’t want to go back to how we were when we were young. This is progress, and,” she pulled at the scarf around her neck, “I shouldn’t ruin it. It was only our second night talking and I didn’t show up.”

When she braved a look at his face, she realised that he was distracted, not focusing on her words. She watched him reach his hand up near her face, hovering slightly before he gently pulled at one of her curls. He dropped his arm and stepped around her. 

“There’s always tomorrow, Granger.”

And then he was gone. She wondered if she had imagined it but the place on her scalp where her hair had been tugged still tingled. 

“Don’t be _stupid_ , Hermione.” She told herself off and walked upstairs, forgetting to do her patrol.

— — — — — — — — — — 

_Saturday - 13th January 1997_

Hermione looked at Draco as he sat at the breakfast table, eyeing a slice of apple that was skewered on the tines of his fork. As soon as his gaze lazily drifted towards her, she turned back to listen to Ron telling her and Harry about some fantastic Quidditch move he had taught himself. She listened for a minute before growing bored, her eyes sliding back to Draco. When she saw that he was still looking at her, she pushed down her nerves and defiantly stared back. 

A minute passed and then,

“Hermione, what are you looking at?”

“Hmm?”

“Ugh, it’s Malfoy. He’s probably trying to figure out how to curse you in your sleep.”

“Hush, Ronald.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t be unkind.” She turned to glare at her friend, who was looking as if she had sprouted a second head at the dinner table. 

“I’m sorry, are you serious? This is Malfoy we’re talking about.”

“Your point?”

“Malfoy? The sorry git who’s tormented you all through school?”

“Yes, but that’s in the past, Ron. People can change.” She was counting on it.

“She’s bloody lost it. This is just like that S.P.E.W. thing she did in fourth-year. People like him don’t change, right, Harry?” Ron turned to their friend, who was watching this exchange with reluctant fascination. 

“I— uh, I don’t—,” Harry stuttered, before being silenced with a withering look from Hermione. She brushed her hair back from her face and held her chin high. 

“Just be nice, Ron. Be nice to people and they might surprise you.”

Ron was so surprised by her sudden change of heart towards Draco Malfoy that he didn’t even notice when the dessert dishes appeared on the table. She stifled a grin with a mouthful of chocolate cake. 

— — — — — 

When Hermione sat down next to Draco later that night, she could tell immediately that there was something off about his mood. She turned to face him. 

“What is it?”

“Granger, not tonight. I—,” he sounded far away, “I don’t want to talk tonight.”

“Oh. Right.” She stood, trying to push down the tiny trickle of hurt that was making her feel embarrassed and out of place. “Okay. I’ll see you, then.”

As she turned to leave the alcove, she felt a tug on her sleeve and glanced back to see him still looking down at the floor. His hands were clutching at the cloth on her wrist so gently that she could barely feel it. He released her. 

“Don’t go.”

The hurt gave way to fluttering anxiety and she carefully sat back down next to him. In a fit of Gryffindor bravery, she lifted a palm to press against his shoulder and he flinched before relaxing his posture. She patted his arm.

“It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay.”

He sighed and dropped his head to his hands. 

“It’s not, Granger. It’s the very opposite of okay.”

They didn’t speak after that, until an hour and a half later, when Hermione reminded Draco that they had to go before Filch caught them on his midnight rounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? I'm sorry it's rushed! I hope that doesn't translate too obviously into the chapter. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and for your lovely comments on the last chapter!
> 
> xx nztina


	4. Push

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey guys!
> 
> I'm glad you're liking the story so far! I'm totally winging it every day that I write! (I tried to plan but I'm bad at that so I've just thrown caution to the wind. I wonder if you can tell...)
> 
> Did you know, 1997 is the year I was born? It's weird writing a story set during this time period. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like this chapter. Watch out for a parallel to A Year in the Countryside...
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!
> 
> xx nztina

_Sunday - 14th January 1997_

Hermione wondered if the dark smudges under Draco’s eyes were related to whatever he had been going through the night before. She kept her focus on the gap between their thighs, no more than a handspan. He was wearing his signature black trousers. 

“Do you just own ten sets of the same outfit?”

His head lifted and he looked at her like she was speaking in riddles.

“What?”

“This—,” Hermione gestured to Draco’s clothing with a casual wave of her hand, “your clothes. I’ve never seen you wearing anything else.”

“Seeker uniform.” He didn’t miss a beat.

“Yes, but that’s different. I mean regular clothes.”

“Regular?”

Hermione tugged at her sweater, then pinched the cloth of her jeans. 

“Regular. Comfy.”

Draco leaned his head back against the stone wall and breathed out a tiny chuckle. 

“Comfy.” He repeated, his soft voice curving around the word. “Somehow, I don’t think Malfoys are able to do _“comfy_ ”, Granger.”

“You could be the change.” Hermione suggested, smiling. She looked up to see Draco scrutinising her with eyes filled with some unknown emotion. 

“What do you suggest?”

“Maybe,” Hermione tilted her head and tried to imagine Draco Malfoy wearing Muggle clothes, “jeans? A t-shirt? Sneakers?”

“You think I can change?”

“I know you can.” She was vehement without realising it.

There was a pause, and then,

“Why do you sit here with me?”

Hermione inhaled sharply at the change of topic. She turned, just enough that she could look at his jaw clenching. 

“You know why.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. I told you. I don’t want you to feel lonely.”

This elicited a harsh laugh from him and she winced at the sound. 

“Seriously, Granger? Lonely? That’s rather pathetic, don’t you think?”

Hermione bristled at his tone. She didn’t know where this was coming from, especially since they seemed to be getting along. 

“Don’t be cruel, Malfoy. Not when I’m trying—,”

“Trying to what?”

“Trying to help you!”

“I don’t _need_ your help!” With this, he stood and stepped away to the opposite wall of the alcove, his hand raised in a fist to lean against the stones. She tried a different tactic, hoping to calm him down.

“You’re not weak, Malfoy. I never meant to insinuate that. I’m sorry if it seemed that way.”

“I don’t need your pity either.”

“Why are you being such a total arse about this?” Hermione stood, a ripple of fury running down her back. He whirled around to face her, taking her by surprise when he took one step forward and slammed both of his hands against the wall behind her, his face inches from hers. He loomed over her and she willed herself not to look at his mouth. 

“Why do you care all of a sudden?” His voice was low and she could smell the sweet mint on his breath mixing with his cologne. He could have kissed her and she would have let him. She would have welcomed it. 

“I’ve always cared.” Hermione whispered her confession, before snapping her mouth shut at the same time that Draco’s jaw fell open, the shock on their faces mirroring each other. For half a minute, they stood in a little bubble and stared at each other, unable to look away. And then Hermione backed up just a fraction and the backs of her knees hit the bench, forcing her to sink down. Draco stood up straight and she watched him back up to lean against the opposite wall, his head bowed down. When her heartbeat was no longer frenetic, she stood up, saying,

“I’m going.” She couldn’t hide the hurt on her face and hope that he couldn’t make out how close to crying she was.

“Bye.”

She tried to wait until she was halfway down the corridor before a tear leaked from each of her eyes. She broke into a run.

— — — — — 

“You could be the change.” 

_Unlikely, Granger._

“What do you suggest?” 

“Maybe,” she tilted her head to the side and smiled, “jeans? A t-shirt? Sneakers?”

He looked away from her and out the window. 

“You think I can change?” 

“I know you can.” There it was. He never had to fight hard to get into her mind, but sometimes, her walls were up and she was harder to reach. Whenever she showed her vulnerability, she was easy prey. He delved into the thoughts hidden just out of sight and found exactly what he was was dreading. 

_I have faith in you. I care about you. Please don’t keep fighting against me. I only want good things for you._

He needed to push her away. It was instinct, and self-preservation. It was necessary. For _both_ of them.

“Why do you sit here with me?”

“You know why.” _Yes, I do._

“No, I don’t.” 

“Yes, you do. I told you. I don’t want you to feel lonely.” _Because you want me to be a better man._

“Seriously, Granger? Lonely? That’s rather pathetic, don’t you think?” _Yes, throw it in her face. Pathetic Hermione Granger with her courage and bravery. Pathetic Hermione Granger, with her beauty and her kindness. Hermione Granger, a shining beacon of light in the darkness._

“Don’t be cruel, Malfoy. Not when I’m trying—,” _Don’t try. Give up. I’m not worth it._

“Trying to what?” 

“Trying to help you!” _Trying to heal me. Unacceptable._

“I don’t need your help!” He stood up and walked to the wall, unable to look at her. If he looked at her, he would break and she would see through the façade. 

“You’re not weak, Malfoy. I never meant to insinuate that. I’m sorry if it seemed that way.” _I’m sorry._ He grimaced. _She_ was saying sorry to _him_. It felt so wrong, so distorted and unreal. 

“I don’t need your pity either.”

“Why are you being such a total arse about this?” He felt her shift and when he spun to face her, his feet moved of their own accord, his palms rising to lean against the wall behind her. The look in her eyes was teetering between fear and passion and he didn’t have to read her mind to know that this was a conflicting position - for both of them. She was staring straight ahead at his tie and before she raised her eyes to meet his, he flicked his gaze to her mouth. The same mouth he had stared at for several years now, in the Great Hall, at the Yule Ball, in classes, in the hallways… Just a few inches and they would be kissing. Instead, he asked,

“Why do you care all of a sudden?” 

“I’ve always cared.” He could scarcely believe what he was hearing, but it felt like a firework was going off inside him. She had admitted it, to him, of all people. She sat down on the bench and he stepped back until he felt the solid stone wall behind him. Before he could respond, she was standing again, muttering,

“I’m going.”

He watched her give him one last look of— _something_ , and he knew he couldn’t do any more damage tonight.

“Bye.”

Draco watched her run away. He cursed his own stupidity and let his knees give way so his back slid down the wall until he was sitting. He let the demons in his head berate him. _You just had to push her, didn’t you? Why? Why, you stupid idiot? You knew why she was doing this. For you. Because she cares about you. Because she doesn’t think you’re a waste of space. She cares and you’ve made her cry._ He saw the shine in her eyes from unspilled tears and the memory of it was making him nauseous.

— — — — — — — — — — 

An hour later, he walked into the Slytherin common room in a sour mood. The room was empty, aside from one lone figure lounging in an armchair by the fireplace. Theo Nott looked up and smiled, slyly. 

“What’s her name?” He asked the question in a wheedling, sing-song voice.

“What?”

“The girl you’ve been fucking. What’s her name?”

“We’re not _fucking_.” Draco dropped down onto the opposite sofa and realised his mistake too late. He sucked his teeth and tried to think of a deflection, when,

“Oh, so there is a girl.”

It wasn’t a question. Draco feigned nonchalance and leaned back. 

“Noone important. Just someone to talk to.”

“Why, _Malfoy_ ,” Theo placed a dramatic hand over his heart, “I’m hurt. All these years and you’ve never thought to confide in me? What does this tart have that I don’t? Is she _that_ good in bed? Or up against a wall, or on a desk, or wherever you go at it?”

Even though Draco knew his friend was teasing, something about Theo referring to Hermione is such graphic terms made his hands clench themselves into fists. He could feel his nails puncturing his skin and he didn’t care.

“Shut up, Nott. Don’t talk about her like that. She’s—,” he hesitated, suddenly unsure why he was even discussing this. Discussing _her_.

“My, my, my.” Theo looked thoroughly satisfied with his investigative skills. “She must be hell of a ride if you’re not going to slag her off, even in private.”

“Does it ever bother you, Nott, that you’re only interested in girls for their physical bodies?”

“Nope.”

“You don’t get bored?”

“Of what, sex?”

“Yes. Just sex.”

“Draco,” Theo was looking at him incredulously, “the sex is _literally_ the only part that matters. Have you hit your head?”

“No. Just wondering.”

“Fuck, mate. You’re going mental if you’re actually interested in all the talking and shit at this age. It’s your time to go crazy. You could have any girl in the school.”

“You mean _‘in our year’_ , correct?” Draco wasn’t sure, though. Theo’s morality was questionable, at the best of times.

“Yeah, _yeah_. Whatever. Anyway, what house is she in?”

“Er—,” Draco decided a lie was needed, “Ravenclaw.”

Theo nodded, approvingly. 

“Nice. What are her tits like?”

“ _Nott_. I’m not fucking about, now drop it.” 

“ _Ooh_ , hit a nerve, have I? She’s _that_ blow-your-brains-out gorgeous? She have a nice arse?”

The thought of Hermione’s body being sexualised by Theodore Nott stoked an anger in Draco’s heart that he didn’t know he possessed. While clenching his jaw, he thought of her face and it repulsed him to imagine Theo anywhere near her. She deserved respect. She was too pure; too good. _She was too good for him._

The last thought was bitter enough to snap him out of his reverie and he resumed glaring at his housemate. 

“I’m going to go to sleep now, before I end up doing something I will sorely regret.”

Theo got to his feet at the same time as Draco, the mocking light in his eyes dimming. 

“Woah, mate, slow down there. I was only—,”

“ _Joking_ , yeah, I know. You’re always joking.”

“Why is she so different? You’ve fucked girls before, what’s changed. That Beauxbatons girl, what was her name?”

“Eloise, and it doesn’t matter. You’re not going to bring this up again, understand?”

“Okay. Okay, man.” Now, Theo was completely serious. He ran a hand through his dark hair and laughed with no humour. “You’re getting too soft, Malfoy. Next thing I know, you’ll be telling me you’re in love with the girl.”

Draco shook his head. _Love_. It was impossible for someone like him. The mark burned into his arm was a painful, permanent reminder of that. That night, he fell asleep with the vision of her tear-filled eyes staring up at him.

— — — — — — — — — — 

_Monday - 15th January 1997_

He waited for her, but she didn’t come. 

— — — — — — — — — — 

_Tuesday - 16th January 1997_

Hermione decided that it wasn’t right to neglect her duties just because Draco Malfoy had made her cry herself to sleep two nights in a row. The day before, she had chickened out of her patrol but enough was enough. She made her way down the corridor and back up again, her wand held aloft and shining a soft light onto the path in front of her. It was a dark, cloudy night and she couldn’t see apart from her little magical torch. It was just as well that it was so dark, as she didn’t want to have to catch even a glimpse of him. She turned at the end of the passage and headed back, when she saw a pair of men’s leather dress shoes standing in her path. It was a realisation that came too late and she smacked into Draco’s chest, stumbling back in shock. She pressed a palm to the wall to steady herself.

“Granger.”

“What do you want, Malfoy?” She didn’t mean for her voice to betray her, but it was laced with obvious hurt. 

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry for how I behaved on Sunday.”

“Oh.” She lifted her wand to look at his face, holding it close to him. 

“What are you doing?” He tried to lean backwards and avoid the _Lumos_ that was shining directly into his eyes. Hermione squinted. 

“I’m trying to look at you.”

“You were looking at me.”

“No, I’m trying to _look_ at you. I want to see if you’re telling the truth.”

“What?”

“You,” she lowered her wand a fraction, “have a very guarded face, you know. I can never tell what you’re thinking and it’s frustrating for me because I always feel like you know _exactly_ what I’m thinking.”

Something akin to amusement passed through his features and one side of his mouth turned upward in a lopsided smirk. Suddenly, he shot out his hand, grabbing hold of her wand arm. She expected his grip to be vicelike but instead, his long fingers and thumb were merely circling her wrist like a bracelet. Gentle. He lowered her wand slowly, never taking his eyes off hers. She never expected him to be gentle.

“I’m very sorry, Hermione.” It was so plain, so honest, that it seemed like a dream. She felt the tension in her body dissipate with this apology and the use of her first name. 

“I forgive you, Draco.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts? I wanted to show a darker, more aggressive relationship, i.e. Draco and Theo. The language is a bit different too, so I hope you enjoyed that little foray into the Slytherin dungeon. 
> 
> Also, who found the parallel to AYITC? (It's in Chapter 12: As You Wish, if you need a hint.)
> 
> Let me know if you can spot it!
> 
> xx


	5. Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys! I know that we can't have any proper resolution with this prequel but that doesn't mean we don't get sexual tension 😉😉😉
> 
> Enjoy!

_Wednesday - 17th January 1997_

“Did you like Potions today?”

“It was okay. You?”

“Oh. Well, uh— I _used_ to enjoy it but—,”

When she hesitated, Draco glanced at her and found her face turned down in thought. She was nibbling at her lower lip. 

“ _But_?”

He waited, watching as she wrung her hands in her lap.

“Ron’s in that class with me.”

He had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking as he said,

“Lavender, too.”

She glared at him, openly. 

“Yes, thanks for that.”

“Seriously, Granger, I don’t get the attraction. What is it about Weasley that gets you all hot and bothered?” _Or more interestingly, what is it about me that gets you all hot and bothered?_

“He’s my friend.”

“And?”

“He’s kind to me.”

“ _Everyone_ is kind to you.”

She smiled, slyly, and poked his arm.

“Everyone…but _you_.”

He nodded. _Yes, this was true. Everyone but him._

“Still not good enough a reason.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth.” _Tell me why you care about me. Tell me why my behaviour hasn’t driven you away._

She didn’t answer, and he took the opportunity to dive into her mind. It was like a drug, using his Legilimency on her. The thoughts he found were addictive. Except…

All she was thinking of was some stupid kiss between Weasley and Brown, in what he assumed was the Gryffindor common room. He could feel Hermione’s heart dropping in the scene. And then, in her memory, she was backing away and sitting in a quiet stairwell to cry. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to push you.”

She lifted her head and tucked a curl behind her ear, giving him her sweet smile. _I don’t deserve it._

“That’s okay. You’re just curious.” She stood and walked to lean against the windowsill. “Anyway, it must be different for you, right?”

“Wha—,” Draco’s mouth was dry as he looked at her, silhouetted by moonlight, “how do you mean?”

“You know,” she shrugged and fiddled with a lock of hair, “all the Slytherin girls throwing themselves at you.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at her statement and she looked at him with an expression he knew well. _Jealousy_. 

“Jealous, Granger?” He couldn’t stop himself. Even if it got him hexed out the window. She recoiled, leaning back against the window frame and shaking her head like it amused her. Only, he knew that she was panicking inwardly.

“Jealous of those girls? I don’t think so.” 

“Doesn’t matter anyway.” Draco decided to push further. “You’re not my type.”

He felt pain stab her heart as strongly as if it was his own and regretted it. 

“You’re not my type either, Malfoy.” _Liar_. Her voice lacked conviction, but he pretended to ignore it. He knew he had hurt her pride enough that night.

“I know.”

“I have to go.” She straightened up and walked past him. He frowned. 

“Look, I didn’t mean to—,” his arm reached after her but he stopped before his fingers brushed against hers.

“Oh, no,” she turned, smiling down at him with eyes that betrayed the hurt he had caused, “it’s just that I promised Ginny that I would help her with her Muggle Studies homework.”

Liar. Liar, liar, liar.

“Of course.” 

“Bye.”

“Goodnight, Granger.”

He groaned and punched the wall when he heard the door at the end of the corridor shut.

— — — — — — — — — — 

_Thursday - 18th January 1997_

It was raining tonight and Draco’s hair was wet. Hermione watched as a bead of water dripped from a soaked lock down to his cheek. 

“What were you doing just now?”

“Hmm?”

“What were you doing? You’re all wet.”

“I went for a walk.”

“In torrential rain?”

“I needed to stretch my legs.”

She nodded. 

“Of course. I understand.” She waved a hand in a wide gesture. “The giant castle, with its many spacious, dry walkways are not suitable for such an occasion.”

She almost gasped when she felt a finger poke her waist and turned to find Draco smirking at her. 

“Very funny, Granger.”

“I’m serious, Malfoy. You’ve been acting so off. Is everything okay?”

She could feel his body stiffen next to hers and immediately regret pushing. 

“None of your concern, Granger.”

“I—,”

_“Granger.”_

She sighed and bent down to rummage in her bag.

“Here.” Swiftly changing the subject, she pressed a large napkin-wrapped parcel into his hand, just like she had a few days before. “I snagged these from dinner tonight. Something went wrong with the desserts so we all had cookies instead of puddings. You know, the same ones from tea time.”

Watching him look down at the assortment of baked goods, she felt her heart flutter as a small smile appeared on his face. 

“Thanks.” The warning edge to his voice had worn away to reveal gratitude. He gestured to her to take a cookie and she shook her head. 

“No, no, those are for you. You need to eat something. I would have gotten more but it looked a bit suspicious. I told everyone that I wanted a midnight snack.”

“Oh.”

She hesitated as she snuck a glance. 

“I didn’t see you for lunch _or_ dinner.”

“I was studying.” He was very quick to reply.

“Right.” She didn’t believe him but she dropped it. “So…how are your parents?”

The disbelief on his face was palpable. He finished chewing a piece of oat cookie. 

“Are you serious?”

“Sorry. I mean, well—,”

“Small talk, Granger?”

“It’s just that—,” she tilted her head in thought, “we don’t really talk about much. I don’t know what to ask you.”

He was silent for a moment, carefully snapping a ginger biscuit into two halves. She almost regretted not taking one, Hogwarts’ ginger biscuits were her favourite. 

“What kind of books do you like to read? Here, at least have a bit. I know you like these.” He surprised her by pushing one half of the biscuit into her hand. A flood of affection caused Hermione’s face to heat, and she stared down at the treat as if it was a precious gem. She couldn’t help asking,

“How did you know?”

“I—,” Draco nibbled the edge of his own biscuit half, not looking at her, “I asked you about books.”

“Oh, right.” Hermione tried to string together coherent thoughts that didn’t involve her thinking about Draco’s mouth. She didn’t even care that he changed the subject. “I like to read Jane Austen.”

“I know this.”

“And, um,” she bit into her biscuit and chewed for a few seconds, making sure to swallow properly so she didn’t choke in front of him, “I like Charles Dickens a lot.”

“Who?”

“Charles Di— you’ve never heard of him?”

“No.” She couldn’t quite tell but it almost looked like he was blushing.

“He writes wonderful novels.”

“Your favourite?”

She gave him a playful grimace. 

“It’s cliché, but _Great Expectations_.”

“Why is it cliché?”

“Well, it’s considered to be his magnum opus.”

Draco mused over this for a minute while eating a chocolate cookie.

“So, this Dickens fellow, is he very famous?”

“He was. He’s considered to be one of the greatest Muggle authors to ever live.”

She wondered how he would react to the word ‘ _Muggle’_ , but he just asked,

“What is it about, this book?”

She spent an hour describing _Great Expectations_ to Draco, who sat there patiently, nodding along and eating cookies until she was finished with the plot and he was full. 

— — — — — — — — — — 

_Friday - 19th January 1997_

Draco stared at Hermione across the Great Hall as she drank a cup of tea, a book held open in one hand. _Great Expectations_. Weasley was sitting next to her, grinding pepper onto his plate. Hermione sneezed twice as she turned a page and Potter, on her right, lifted a hand to pat her shoulder. It was such an unconscious and friendly thing to do but it made a flame of jealousy lick at Draco’s heart. He was staring so hard at Hermione that he could feel a dull, throbbing pain flare up in his left temple. He ignored it. 

“Are you okay, there?”

He snapped out of his reverie to blink at Blaise Zabini, who was giving him an odd look.

“What?”

“You’re glaring at Hermione Granger like she personally assaulted you with your own Quidditch broom.”

“Oh, I—,” Draco picked up his own teacup and drained it, “I was just thinking about something and got lost. Uh, so I—, my vision blurred over.”

Blaise gave him a look. Draco slipped into his mind, curious to know what his friend was thinking behind those dark eyes. 

_Do you think I’m stupid?_

“I _wasn’t_ staring at her.”

Blaise supplied him with an amused grin.

“I said _glaring_ , but, whatever.” He shrugged and returned to nursing his mug of coffee. Draco refused to look in Hermione’s direction for the rest of breakfast. 

— — — — — 

That night, when Draco heard Hermione coming down the hallway, he straightened up from his hunched over position. She turned the corner and he tried to think of something apart from the black stockings she was wearing.

“Hey.” She sat down and lightly pressed her hand onto his knee, in a manner that was so familiar and intimate, it made his heart stutter. It was the action of a girl who was comfortable in his presence. She immediately withdrew it, her face betraying no sign of embarrassment or mistake. He took a look into her thoughts.

_He looks sad._

“You’re dressed up tonight.” He stole a glance at her navy blue dress, the hem of which was currently hitched up to her thigh. She looked down and fiddled with the sash at her waist. 

“Oh. Yes, I was at one of Slughorn’s dinners.”

“Ah, the Slug Club.”

“It’s a bit awful, really. McLaggen still hangs about me like a remora.”

A surge of anger made his fingers twitch and he tried to keep his face calm. McLaggen had no right to be anywhere near Hermione. _What a fucker._

As if she could sense his discomfort, she shook her head. 

“He’s not bothering me. It was a mistake to ask him to escort me to the Christmas party in the first place.”

“Oh.”

“I asked him in the hope that it would annoy Ron.”

More anger. He gritted his teeth and watched her lift her hands to untie the ribbon that was holding her hair up in a bun. Her curls cascading down her shoulders were enough of a distraction that he forgot about being jealous of Half-Wit Weasley and Dickhead McLaggen. Then, he remembered to ask,

“What is a ree-mora?”

“ _Remora_. It’s a parasitic sea creature that latches onto other animals, or sometimes boats and ships.”

“You’ve described him well.” 

Draco felt pleased when Hermione laughed. It was one of his favourite sounds. Then, she slipped her feet out of the high heels she wore and rolled her neck.

“I’m so tired. It was such a dull party, but I can’t refuse Slughorn’s invitations.”

“Why not?”

“He’d be so offended.”

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with him being offended.”

“Yes, I should. He’s my teacher.”

“But you don’t owe him anything—,”

“I—,”

They both stopped short when they heard giggling from far down the corridor. Hermione’s hand shot out once more to grip onto Draco’s thigh and if they weren’t about to get caught, he would have enjoyed the sensation of her delicate fingers much more. He tried to think of what to do but his mind had gone blank, and all he could do was stare at the wide-eyed girl sitting next to him. Luckily, he could feel Hermione’s mind working at thrice her normal speed to come up with a solution. As he watched, she tapped her wand against her hair and it straightened, darkening to ebony. She yanked him up by his hands, and once standing, lifted herself onto the window ledge, beckoning him to come nearer. He shuffled forward and when he was close enough, Hermione grabbed at his shirt, her nails pushing against his skin. 

Draco realised what she was doing just as her knees opened and she pulled him to step in between her thighs. It was a ruse. He could hear footsteps coming closer and lifted a hand to rest against the windowpane, the other reaching for her hair. It wasn’t really her hair, but when he closed a fist around the silky straight locks, his heart sang out with unbridled happiness. He tugged her hair gently and she obligingly bent her neck so that her face was out of view, pressing her nose into the base of his throat. Her small, panicky breaths were warm against his clavicle.

If this wasn’t a dangerous situation, he would have died right there from happiness. Hermione Granger, the girl who he had adored for years, was currently locking her ankles around his waist. She was so warm. Draco pulled back to look at Hermione for a moment. 

“Is this okay?” He whispered. She nodded, frantically. He dropped his head, pressing his mouth against the soft skin of her collarbone. She gasped and he felt a tug beneath his stomach. Hermione smelled of Amortentia. But, he already knew this. Making sure to keep his lips firmly shut, they waited. Suddenly, there was a gasp. 

“Oh —,” a girl whispered, sharply.

“Oh!” A boy echoed her.

Draco didn’t turn, making sure to keep Hermione’s face hidden. He lifted his mouth an inch off her skin to growl,

“Get lost. This floor is occupied.”

“Sorry! I’m _so_ —,”

“We’re sorry!”

Then there was the sound of receding footsteps and Draco felt Hermione relax underneath him. When they heard the door at the end of the passage slam shut, Draco drew back and locked eyes with Hermione, who was still holding him close with her hands around his neck. 

In the few seconds that it took for their breathing and heartbeats to return to normal, he looked into her mind and saw…

 _Longing_. 

His heart sank. He _needed_ her to stay away from him and all he was doing was encouraging her feelings as well as his own. Pulling away from her was one of the most difficult thing he had ever done and as her legs released him, she sighed. Raising her wand from where it sat next to her, Hermione lifted the charm from her hair and her curls spring back to life. 

“I’m sorry.” She looked down and he fought the urge to tilt her chin up, instead, squeezing her knee with his hand, mirroring what she had done earlier. She caught his eye, her mouth dropping open. 

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

“No. It was—,” he couldn’t help the smirk that rose to the surface, “cunning of you.”

“It was so inappropriate of me to force you into that situation.”

A bold, reckless feeling inside him made him place his hands around her waist and lift her off the ledge. Her frame was so tiny. She weighed nothing. Setting her down, he smiled. She slipped her shoes on and straightened to look up at him. Even in heels, she was a couple of inches shorter than him.

“No, Granger. Not inappropriate. Just very _Slytherin_.”

Her mouth fell open in horror.

“I didn’t—! I—,”

“Night, Granger.”

— — — — —

Hermione replayed the moment Draco’s lips touched her neck for three hours. His scent still lingered on her person as she lay in bed. His hair had brushed against her throat and his mouth was so warm on her skin. She finally fell asleep in the early hours of the next morning with the acceptance that she was ultimately screwed. Draco Malfoy would be the death of her. 

She turned and snuggled into her pillow.

_I’m okay with that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo....what did you think? Leave me a comment! 
> 
> xx nztina


	6. Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends. I'm exhausted and I haven't actually read this chapter back to see if there are any mistakes so please let me know. 
> 
> I've written notes at the bottom for you.
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!
> 
> xx nztina

_Saturday - 20th January 1997_

It was another night of silence. Draco asked her to stay, and she did. He sat next to her with his eyes shut and she listened to their breathing settle into a rhythm. Something was different today. Things had…shifted in their relationship. They weren’t just strangers meeting in the night anymore; it was more than that. There was no discomfort or awkwardness. Even in the quiet darkness, it was peaceful. 

Her heart ached because she knew something was wrong. She _knew_ that she was straddling the line of danger and that things were changing. Draco was in trouble. She had to find out what was wrong. Soon. For now, they could just sit together and be at peace.

_Sunday - 21st January 1997_

Draco felt her hand press against his knee in a manner that was now familiar. She sat down next to him, a book on her lap. 

“Bored of me already?”

She laughed, her fingers softly brushing over the cover of the thin book in a reverent, Hermione Granger way. He pried it from her grasp and turned it over to read the title. 

“I brought it in case you wanted to sit in silence. I—,” she hesitated so he looked up at her, nodding for her to continue, “This place is so peaceful. I thought it would be nice to read.”

“Why do you come up here?”

“What?”

His head was hurting today so he couldn’t reach into her mind with ease, and decided to take the night off from snooping. He could go back to invading her privacy tomorrow night.

“Why do you bother spending an hour with me every night? Surely you have better things to do with your time.”

There was silence between them as she thought over his question.

“Because,” she finally said, giving him a smile, “I like being here with you.”

It turned out he didn’t need to read her mind, because, in true Hermione form, she was as honest and open as one of her books. It made his heart stutter but he masked it with feigned indifference.

“You do?” He couldn’t hide the scepticism in his voice. She shrugged, before lifting her eyes to look out the window. 

“ _Also_ , I don’t really like to be in my room. Lavender is in the same dorm as me, and I don’t enjoy her company.”

“I don’t blame you, she’s an annoying bint.” Draco opened the book and thumbed through the pages, smiling when he heard Hermione’s reluctant chuckle. “Pablo Neruda. Who is he?”

“A poet.”

“Do you like poetry?”

“ _No_ , Draco. I’ve read and reread this book a thousand times because I hate poetry.”

His name in her lilting voice made him smile and the book fell open to a page that was worn thin by time and use. The spine was so threadbare that the book stayed open with no help from him.

“Is this your favourite?”

“What?”

“This poem. ‘ _Tonight I Can Write…_ ’, you like it, don’t you?”

“Well,” she was frowning, unsure of where he was going with this question, “yes, I suppose. It means a lot to me.”

“Would you like me to read it?” He didn’t know why he was asking. It spilt from his mouth without authorisation from his brain.

“Oh, I—,”

“Yes or no, Granger.” Well, he had no choice now. 

“Yes.”

He cleared his throat and began to recite,

_“Tonight I can write the saddest lines._

_Write, for example, ‘The night is shattered_

_and the blue stars shiver in the distance.’_

_The night wind revolves in the sky and sings._

_Tonight I can write the saddest lines._

_I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too._

_Though nights like this one I held her in my arms._

_I kissed her again and again under the endless sky._

_She loved me, sometimes I loved her too._

_How could one not have loved her great still eyes._

_Tonight I can write the saddest lines._

_To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her._

_To hear the immense night, still more immense without her._

_And the verse falls to the foul like dew to the pasture._

_What does it matter that my love could not keep her._

_The night is shattered and she is not with me._

_This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance._

_My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her._

_My sight searches for her as though to go to her._

_My heart looks for her, and she is not with me._

_The same night whitening the same trees._

_We, of that time, are no longer the same._

_I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her._

_My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing._

_Another’s. She will be another’s. Like my kisses before._

_Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes._

_I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her._

_Love is so short, forgetting is so long._

_Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms_

_my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her._

_Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer_

_and these the last verses that I write for her.”_

Draco looked up from the page to see that Hermione’s face was turned towards his, not meeting his gaze. Two thin rivulets of tears ran down from her eyes and she sat there, like a statue. He felt his hand rising before he could stop himself and suddenly, they were looking at each other as he lifted her chin upward. He couldn’t help but notice how soft her skin was. 

“That was beautiful.”

“I’m sorry I made you cry—”

“No,” she shook her head, swiping at her tears, “you didn’t—,”

“—when we were younger. I made you cry with all the cruel things I said to you. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“Oh.”

There it was. The apology he had written down a hundred times and never had the courage to send. The words he had rehearsed over and over in his mind.

“You don’t need to accept it, but I need to let you know that I am truly so—,”

“I accept your apology, Draco. For everything. I accept it.”

“I don’t deser—,”

She was suddenly holding onto his arm now, and he willed himself not to lean in and kiss her. 

“I _said_ I forgive you. Leave it.”

The air in the alcove felt very different this night. He could sense the shift in the atmosphere. Just then, when he had finished reading the poem, it was like they were different people. People who were lucky, and far away from the world they lived in. People who could afford to have feelings for each other. 

He kicked himself for being so foolish and, in spite of his efforts, fell asleep that night dreaming of her.

— — — — —

_…Another’s. She will be another’s. Like my kisses before._

_Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes._

_I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her._

_Love is so short, forgetting is so long._

_Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms_

_my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her._

_Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer_

_and these the last verses that I write for her.”_

Hermione felt hot tears leaking from her eyes and didn’t bother brushing them away. Draco’s voice was so soft and deep, and it was hypnotising to hear him recite the poem. Her _favourite_ poem. Suddenly, his fingertips were slowly tilting her chin up so she was forced to look at his silver eyes. 

“That was beautiful.” She could listen to him recite poetry all day. His face was tormented by something and suddenly, he said,

“I’m sorry I made you cry—”

“No,” she wiped at her cheeks. He was misunderstanding her and she needed to make him see that these were happy tears, “you didn’t—,”

“—when we were younger. I made you cry with all the cruel things I said to you. I’m sorry I hurt you, Hermione.”

“Oh.” She felt the breath leave her lungs. These were the words she had been waiting to hear for so many years. And suddenly, all the tension in the deep recesses of her heart was unravelling, and she was free. He continued, 

“You don’t need to accept it, but I need to let you know that I am truly so—,”

“I accept your apology, Draco. For everything. I accept it.”

“I don’t deser—,”

She reached for his arm and held onto it, pushing aside the thought that he felt too skinny. He was so close now, and she dug her nails into her thigh to not think about kissing him.

“I _said_ I forgive you. Leave it.”

That was it. She wouldn’t take any more apologies from him. His shoulders relaxed and a small smile found its way onto his face, taking the place of the worry that was semi-permanent in his features. 

— — — — — — — — — —

_Monday - 22 January 1997_

“Miss Granger?”

“That is dried luxeweed, Professor.”

“Well done, ten points to Gryffindor! And can someone tell me what this is? _No_ , Miss Granger, someone else. How about—,” Slughorn scanned the room and Hermione saw his gaze come to rest upon the downturned face of Draco Malfoy, standing at the edge of the class. “—Mr Malfoy, come now.”

“Sir?” Draco looked up, panicked. Hermione could tell he had been daydreaming and willed him to understand that Slughorn was asking him for the name of the last ingredient in Polyjuice potion.

“What is in this bottle?”

“Oh, uh—,”

_Come on, Draco. It’s powdered Bicorn horn!_

“Powdered Bicorn horn, Professor.”

“Well _done_ , Mr Malfoy! Ten points to Slytherin!”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. She was impressed. Apparently, he was quick on his feet. Suddenly, he shot her a playful glance and she balked at the open display of congeniality. Glancing around, her shoulders relaxed as she realised that no one had seen the peculiar exchange. 

Hermione glared at Draco in return. 

— — — — — 

“You can’t just _smile_ at me!”

“Good evening to you, too, Granger.”

“I’m serious! Can you imagine if Harry or Ron found out? Pansy Parkinson would have skinned me alive if she knew about us.”

“Us?”

Hermione halted, her cheeks flooding with warmth. _Oh, bloody hell._

“I mean, well—,” she stuttered, trying to find the right words to get her out of the hole she had dug herself into, “just this situation here—,”

“Situation?”

“This,” she sat down next to him in a huff, “weird pseudo-friendship we have.”

“What’s for dinner today, Granger?”

“How do you know I even brought you anything?”

“Because I know you.”

Those four words sparked a fire in Hermione’s heart and she tried to be as nonchalant as possible when she shrugged. 

“Nope. Didn’t bring you anything.”

“Granger.”

“Okay, fine!” She reached into her robes and carefully removed a white disc. He frowned and peered down at it.

“I’m starting to get worried.”

She grinned and tapped the little white object with her wand, wordlessly enlarging it until it revealed itself to be a dinner plate with a soup-bowl upturned over it. Removing the make-shift lid, Hermione smiled as the scent of the full roast dinner wafted up to Draco.

He looked at her with something between gratitude and hunger. 

“Thank you, Granger. You’re truly an angel.”

She enlarged the set of cutlery in her other pocket and smiled. 

“Wait until you see what I got you for dessert.”

The suggestive look he gave her was almost worth the embarrassment of Ginny catching her sneak the plate away from the dining hall. _Almost_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, did you like it?
> 
> Here are some notes:
> 
> \- I posted a series of short notes from Draco to Hermione, most of which he never sent, in the Letters section of this series. Some of them are apologies for the things he had done over the years, which culminate in this apology.  
> \- Pablo Neruda is one of my favourite poets and this is one of my favourite poems. I thought it was very fitting for Draco and Hermione. And what could be more lovely than him reciting her favourite poem?  
> \- He read this poem to her again...at their wedding. Which I will be writing about in a separate one-shot.  
> \- Draco totally read Hermione's mind to get the answer to Sluggy's question. He's not averse to cheating. Hermione will berate him for this blatant misuse of his gifts later in their life together. For now, she just thinks he's extraordinarily in tune with her.
> 
> Leave me a comment! See you soon x

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments below! 
> 
> Thank you for reading! ❤️


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